


aftermath

by hintofaspark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Gen, Post Finale, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27517174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hintofaspark/pseuds/hintofaspark
Summary: He can’t talk to the sky, there’s no use. He can’t talk to the ground or to a burning pile and there isn’t even a headstone to plant flowers on.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 10





	aftermath

Sam is standing in front of a mirror, the tuxedo fits him like this is what he should have worn everyday for the past ten years. Tight cravats and golden beads sitting at the end of his sleeves. It fits him like the life he deserved, and had long stopped dreaming of.  
Dean is looking at him like he’s the best thing this world could have asked for.  
And the world may not know, but he is.  
And the world may not know, but Dean does.  
“I’m kinda nervous” he says, fidgeting with the top buttons of his jacket.  
Dean clears his throat, looks at him through the glass: “There’s no need to be.”  
Sam scoffs, the hint of a smile playing on his lips: “Easy for you to say, you just gotta stand there and look pretty.”  
“So do you, man. Hate to break it to you, but you’re not the star of this show.”  
Sam laughs, turning around: “Have you seen her yet?”  
Dean nods: “She looks beautiful.”  
Sam seems shy, uncertain, not of what he’s about to do but of the way he feels because- fuck, the way he feels is so different from anything he knows he keeps getting whiplash.  
“How do I look?”  
Dean stands up, pats him on shoulder, brushing away nonexistent lint.  
“Happy.”  
“Yeah, no shit.”  
“You’re gonna do alright.”  
“I still feel nervous.”  
“Today is the first day of the rest of your life. I’d be nervous, too.”  
“I don’t know how to do this.”  
“Well, Sammy, it’s pretty easy,” Dean says, “You walk down the aisle, say I do, then kiss her stupid.”  
Sam rolls his eyes, huffs an intelligible curse. It doesn’t matter, Dean has a pretty good idea of what it is.  
“I should have brought a camera in here to document how much of a bitch you’re being about this.”  
“Shut up, I can’t wait until it’s your turn, then we’ll see.”  
Dean keeps a grin on his face, though it turned a little sour, when he says: “Then I guess I got nothing to worry about.”  
Sam looks at him like-  
Looks at him like he knows he’s right, but one of them has gotta keep up the pretense, and keep the faith. He was always good at harboring enough love for the both of them.  
“C’mon, we gotta go. It’s not the groom’s job to be late.”  
And Sam might still be staring at him, but Dean is already with one foot through the door, so how would he know.  
-  
The service is short and sweet and perfect, but the reception is all hell breaking loose (the good kind). Everybody they know and their mother is there, because the Winchesters haven’t had many days as good as this one so might as well make the best of what they got while it lasts.  
Ideally, it’s forever.  
Like the vows exchanged and the words engraved on the rings.  
Realistically, they both still wake up in cold sweat in the middle of the night. They both can’t really read the news anymore.  
Sam gets chills and tremors every time he drives past a church.  
Dean has the area mapped out so that he never has to.  
But right now there’s familiar faces at the bar and on the makeshift dance floor and Sammy can’t stop smiling and Dean can’t stop looking at him, so proud that his chest is bursting. Now that the night is almost over, Dean slips into the unfamiliar habit of letting himself reminisce, because he has changed this kid’s diapers, he cut his hair and bandaged everything from a scrapped knee to a broken soul. He would die for his brother. He did. And right here, right now he is overwhelmed by the absolute certainty that it was all worth it.  
He got himself out of the habit of looking at the sky a while ago, the knowledge of how empty it really is too heavy to bear.  
Especially at night.  
Especially when it’s clear and unbelievably blue like tonight is, stars bright and blinking.  
He remembers what that sky looks like falling down, he remembers what it feels like to look at it like it’s the last time, and he knows how stardust and unrest and pure intent feel like sitting next to you at the table.  
He knows and he can’t shake it off his skin, but he can pretend to forget as long as he keeps his head down.  
He’s at the bar and he’s four whiskeys in and thinking about a fifth, thinking about looking up for the first time in so long, but then Sam appears next to him with a glass of champagne and the moment is over.  
“Cheers”, he says.  
Dean had never been keen to fancy drinks, but it doesn’t matter today.  
“You did a good job with the best man speech. They’re still talking about it, and I almost cried.”  
“What do you mean almost? I saw you, you were one sob away from having snot on your face.”  
“You’re a jerk.”  
“Bitch.”  
But they’re both smiling, because Sam _was_ crying and Dean’s voice had been a little shaky when he told his brother to _just tell her you love her, Sammy, any chance you got. Until the words don’t make any damn sense anymore._  
They stay in silence for a while, watching the conga line Sam had somehow escaped.  
“I think mom would have liked this.”  
Dean scoffs, “I think mom would have drank you and me under the table by now, and would probably be snoring in the backseat of her truck.”  
Sam chuckles, less of a laugh and more of a drunken giggle: “You’re right. But she’d have been awesome at it.”  
“The best.”  
“Dad, too. Though I can’t really picture him here, it’s been so long.”  
Dean nods, claps him on the shoulder once, twice.  
“It’s alright, Sammy. He’d be happy for you.”  
And maybe it’s a lie, but they earned the privilege of believing it.  
“I wish Cas was here.”  
And Sam must be drunker than he looks, because he hasn’t dared utter that name in front of Dean in years.  
“Yeah.”  
“I really miss him, you know.”  
“Sammy...” it’s a half hearted warning and a full bodied plea, but stopping Sam now would be like trying to stop a train in its tracks.  
“I have been thinking about him lately. I know it’s stupid, but with the marriage thing it’s just, it’s hard not to think of church bells and God and the whole shindig. Even if God was an asshole, even if there’s nothing left of that. It still comes to mind, you know.”  
But Dean doesn’t know. In fact, he has no idea what he’s talking about, because the only times he thinks about God and churches is when the memories come to haunt him as bloody nightmares.  
“Stop.”  
Sam looks at him like he’d forgotten he was there in the first place.  
“You never talk about him, but I think it’d be good for you.”  
“Stop. Don’t make me punch you, not today.”  
Sam sighs, “Alright.”  
“Alright.”  
The air is filled by the first few notes of an Elvis song, and Sam has to go.  
“I’m gonna take a walk, get some fresh air.”  
Sam doesn’t mention how they’re outside already, just disappears in the crowd, and Dean walks.  
He walks to the parking lot, sits on the hood of his car, and looks up.  
He doesn’t speak, the sound of his own voice is often startling nowadays.  
He just sits there, and looks up, and lets his eyes get watery. Just a little bit.  
He has things to say and no one to tell them to. He can’t talk to the sky, there’s no use. He can’t talk to the ground or to a burning pile and there isn’t even a headstone to plant flowers on.  
He has nothing but the same three words soundlessly touching his lips over and over again.  
It’s almost a prayer.

**Author's Note:**

> I am emotionally distraught and so is Dean. He never got to say those words back or to say goodbye and I will be forever sad about it but this is the happiest scenario for Sam and Dean I could imagine other than a Cas resurrection. 
> 
> Kudos and reviews might help my broken heart, sigh.  
> Constructive criticism is always accepted :)  
> English in not my first language so please excuse any mistakes.


End file.
